I duck beneath the window. She’s too close, one wrong move and she’ll see me. I hold my breath, every muscle locked.
She calls out again from the door now and waits for way too long. I feel my lungs burning, but she finallyheads back inside. I peek and see her working on the other eye now. It gives me time to move, so I slip toward the guys, crouching low.
“What the actual fuck, Eiden?” Caleb grabs my arm and yanks me behind a tree. “She sewed his testicles into his eye sockets?!”
“Beau told you,” I mutter, clearing my throat, trying not to laugh.
“You’re enjoying this?” Beau rubs a hand down his face like it might erase the memory.
I shake my head and exhale. “It’s not like he didn’t deserve it.”
“Yeah, sure, but still—” Beau shifts uncomfortably and grabs his crotch without thinking. “She cut his testicles off, dude.”
“Yes, she fucking did.” I lean against the tree, arms crossed, grinning wide under the mask.
“You’re as psycho as she is if this is turning you on,” Caleb growls, pacing again.
“What’s turning me on is how powerful she looked.”
I turn my head and spot her exiting the cabin, pushing a battered shopping cart, Henry’s body dumped inside. She’s panting, dragging the cart through the woods, and we follow in silence.
She looks exhausted.
We reach a hole between two massive trees, a shovel already waiting beside it. She stops and kicks the cart over and over until it tips, Henry’s limp body thudding into the dirt and she grunts, dragging him into the pit. Stares at him for a long moment, then she starts covering him with soil.
“She had everything planned,” Caleb mutters. “She’s a murderous genius.”
I study her. Sweat drips from her hairline, and I catch it, the hair is crooked. Smart cat from hell, she’s wearing a wig. My eyes roam her body as she bends over to make sure every part of his is covered, and those fucking curves under the plastic—
“I’m getting your phone from her car while she’s still out here,” Beau whispers, already moving off.
Caleb pulls out his phone and tries to take a few shots, but it’s too dark to catch much detail.
She leans to fix the cart, her knife slipping from the back pocket of her plastic jumpsuit, but she doesn’t notice and heads back toward the cabin, Caleb trailing behind her.
Me? I go for the knife. It’s still warm from her hand, Henry’s blood crusted along the blade. There are no marks, no brand, looks and feels cheap and too heavy for her hands.
I slip it into my hoodie pocket, my pulse steady, and I lick my lips, already thinking of ways to play with her, ways to fuck with her madness.
Chapter Three
I’ve been in the shower for over an hour, and I swear I can still feel his blood on me. It’s seeped into my skin, into my bones, clinging to every cell. I’ve brushed my teeth three times already, desperate to scrub out the taste of vomit. The first thing I did when I got home was drop to my knees and throw up.
Thanks to the TV showDexterand his plastic obsession, I wrapped the entire room. All I had to do was peel it away—walls, floor, my own skin—and burn it. The wig, the jumpsuit, the gloves, the sheets. Every piece gone to ash, but the smell of melting plastic and blood still lingers at the back of my throat.
Oh, fuck. I drop to the toilet again, dry heaving, but there’s nothing left but stomach acid. Getting back under the warm water I lean on the cold tiles.
I can’t believe I did that. I don’t regret it, not even a little, he deserved every second.
I force myself out of the shower, scrub one last time until my skin stings raw and pink. Wrapping myself in my favorite towel, I stumble into the bedroom, collapsing face-first onto the bed, still damp. Still shaking.
Exhaustion drags at my body, but the adrenaline hasn’t faded; it’s still running hot in my veins.
Daisy deserves closure.
They all deserve to pay. They didn’t just rape her, as if that horror wasn’t enough, they marked her. Cut into her thighs, carved shame into her skin in a way no surgeon could erase. Even after all the procedures, the scars stayed. She has to live with them forever and still, she stayed strong. She did everything right. Police reports, lawyers, statements, but the second their names came up, every door slammed shut. Money and power rules the world and the justice system.
We even considered going public. I searched for podcasters, even contacted a reporter, and that’s when they came, four men in black suits with foreign accents. My aunt answered the door, and they forced their way in, put a knife to her throat, and made their threat.
